When she opened her eyes the next morning Mrs. Pollifax saw that Amy had gone and that Farrell was standing over her with a cup of steaming brew. "You slept late, d.u.c.h.ess, I've brought you coffee. Very strong coffee, I might add. And young Joe has been telling me how you arrived here, and at what hour and in what condition."

"I was luckier than you," she said lightly.

The tent was stifling and she glanced at her watch and was startled to see that it was nine o'clock . "I did sleep late," she admitted, and sitting up she gratefully accepted the coffee and after two sips made a face. "Very strong -enough to clear the sinuses!" and with a glance at Farrell's face, "Aside from your black eye, which is turning purple now, how are you feeling?"

"Much restored," he told her. "Now tell me about this Joe who's adopted you."

She laughed. "It's a long story," she told him, "but he's a real archaeologist. He just happens to have a cousin in the CIA who subsidized his getting here three years ago when he was broke -if he'd pa.s.s along any news of interest in this part of the country. It's he who reported the story Bazir Mamoul told one of the men here when he stopped for water. He's not a pro; he's never met Omar, but twice a month he goes into Damascus to pick up supplies and chats with Abdul."

"I'll forgive him for snoring then," Farrell said. "It sounds like the two of you have been busy as h.e.l.l, d.u.c.h.ess."

"I don't think h.e.l.l is connected with busyness," she said thoughtfully. "h.e.l.l is more like boredom, or not having enough to do, and too much time to contemplate one's deficiencies."

"Which I was doing all yesterday," he said. "What on earth possessed you to go back into the desert last night? And what did you find? Do you realize Joe was up practically the entire night laying out pieces of paper and studying them? He refused to explain, too."

"I'm surprised that he didn't. We went back to dig more where the pa.s.sport was found. In the dark. Hoping to find more -and we did, Farrell. Those sc.r.a.ps of paper we brought back seem to be torn out of a journal handwritten in English."

He thought about this, frowning. "Not quite enough to satisfy the State Department, d.u.c.h.ess. Not enough for them to demand action. We'd have to actually see Amanda Pym, wouldn't we? To be certain she's there, and still alive?"

"Oh yes," she agreed, and was silent, considering this. "The only hope of actually seeing her would appear to be at the privy -everyone there would visit it-although it's terribly rude to spy on people at such a time."

"Why?" asked Farrell. "We're not planning to sell photos of them to a tabloid." He frowned. "Can you draw me a sketch of the camp as you and Joe saw it on your daylight trip?" Seeing that a lined notebook lay on the table next to Amy's cot he ripped off a sheet and brought it to her, along with a pencil. "Draw it."

Obligingly Mrs. Pollifax put down her cup of coffee and drew an elongated circle. "The tents were down at this end," she said. "Far enough away so that we needed binoculars to see the people there. I remember a tree here .. , and here . . , and here," she continued, sketching in trees ".., and high gra.s.s here and here, and the tents. . . ." She drew four small triangles and two large ones at the far end.

"And the privy must be near where you spied on them, it has to be." He reached for her pencil and added a square with a question mark.

"So what do you think?" she asked.

He smiled. "I think, d.u.c.h.ess, that I've quite recovered -a trifle wobbly, but my brain is operative, thank you-and I think it's time for me to make my contribution, and we can't afford to stay at this camp much longer."

He was thinking, of course, of the two s.a.d.i.s.tic men who would be looking for him. "And your contribution, if one may ask?"

"Once it's dark tonight, I'll establish myself at the base of the hill and lie there until I hear some activity, then crawl to the top and give a quick look, just as Bazir Mamoul did. The moon's almost full tonight, I should be able to see faces."

"And they could see yours," she pointed out tartly.

"I suppose you're right," he admitted. "d.u.c.h.ess, at the beginning of this you said we'd need imagination, ingenuity and resourcefulness . . , think of something!"

"I said that?" She sighed, and considering this for a long moment suddenly brightened. "Birnam Wood!"

"Birnam what?"

"Macbeth, remember? 'He'll not be vanquished until Birnam Wood moves to Dunsinane' .., camouflage! Dig up one of those stunted woody shrubs, and as soon as we get there -it'll be dark-plant it at the top of the hill so that its leaves and twigs form a screen. They won't notice a bush. We can taka turns creeping up the hill -but it'll be cold-and look without their seeing us."

"Macbeth," he mused. "Unfortunately my vaudeville parents never played Macbeth. Flamenco dancing was their gig, but the idea has potential. Let's do it."

At this point Joe interrupted them by walking into Amy's tent and announcing that it was almost lunchtime. "And Amy will be wanting her tent for a nap after that. What are you planning?"

Mrs. Pollifax told him what they were plotting to do and he looked alarmed. "But you'll need the Land Rover again, what on earth can I tell Dr. Robinson this time?"

She said ruthlessly, "Tell him that Farrell wants to see the desert in the moonlight. How is your jigsaw puzzle of sc.r.a.ps coming along?"

He said with a wry smile, "It's rather like archaeology - when one translates what someone long ago wrote and felt- except this is someone contemporary, and maybe still alive. What she's written, I mean." He added eagerly, "We had one semester on Babylonia at university and there was an ancient Babylonian prayer that I memorized that really explains . ., well, how exciting archaeology can be, hearing a voice from thousands of years ago. Care to hear it?"

Farrell shrugged and said indulgently, "Sure, why not?"

"Good .., it's a prayer, you know." Closing his eyes he was quiet for a moment and then he slowly recited, " 'I am silent and in tears and none takes me by the hand. My G.o.d, who knowest the unknown, be merciful .., in the midst of the stormy waters come to my help, take me by the hand....' "

They were moved to silence until Mrs. Pollifax said softly, "How beautiful -and how eloquent."

Farrell said gruffly, "When would that have been written?"

"Long before Christ was born. I've often wondered -"

Mrs. Pollifax nodded. "Yes. Who and what and if."

"And that's the way it sort of is now, trying to piece together these sc.r.a.ps of paper that could turn out to be torn from a journal Amanda Pym kept."

"What have you found so far?" she asked.

His eyes dropped. "Not much yet," he said vaguely. "So many sc.r.a.ps."

Mrs. Pollifax gave him a curious glance but said nothing.

"I'll work on them some more this evening, after you've gone," he said quickly. "And of course I'll ask Dr. Robinson about the Land Rover." He hurried out of the tent, and Mrs. Pollifax found it surprising and a little amusing that after his intense interest in accompanying her on the previous evening he appeared indifferent about their return to the sniper camp tonight. The scholar in him had surfaced, and he appeared now to have become involved in deciphering, not a Babylonian prayer, but an Amanda Pym.

Joe had succeeded in securing the Land Rover for them, taking to Dr. Robinson a substantial payment for the gas they'd used. If this was blackmail, thought Mrs. Pollifax, it was at least for a worthy cause, and they set out, she and Farrell, as soon as the sun had vanished in a burst of orange, scarlet and gold.

Once the Land Rover had been left behind, the three-mile hike seemed longer to Mrs. Pollifax than it had been the night before, and the moon was alarmingly bright. "I think," she decided, "that we should begin the Birnam Wood scheme a bit early. The moon seems awfully bright. If anyone should be looking, if they have a watchman or a guard ..."

"Say no more," said Farrell.

Joe had borrowed djellabas for them again, and each of them wore one -Mrs. Pollifax's was too long and she frequently tripped over it-but even two wandering nomads could be suspect. After a brief reconnaissance they found two small th.o.r.n.y shrubs, four feet high and bearing enough fleshy green leaves to hide behind. After laboriously digging them out of the earth they advanced, carrying them like flags and feeling very foolish. Once in sight of the hill they set the bushes down in front of them to make sure they'd not been seen; after an interval they moved closer, pausing from time to time until they at last reached the base of the hill.

"n.o.body shot us," said Farrell with some relief. "I'll go first, I've not seen the camp, you know, and I'd like to get a good look at it." Binoculars in hand, and shoving the tree ahead of him Farrell crawled to the top. Mrs. Pollifax watched him dig a hole with his bare hands, and once he had securely planted the shrub she saw him huddle down behind it and train the binoculars on the camp. When he returned he said, "A few lights in the long tent, one in a small tent. And I could spot the privy, it's not far. A deep pit, and fortunately they've not filled it in yet, or moved it, which they no doubt do from time to time."

"Good," she said, pleased. "And now we wait."

It was not long before they heard voices, and as they grew louder Farrell clawed his way to the hilltop to peer through his screen of dried leaves. With a shake of his head he returned. "Three men," he whispered. "Kicked a few pebbles into the pit and left."

A shivering Mrs. Pollifax said, "I'm stiff with cold, let me have a turn next."

He handed her the binoculars and she struggled up the hill to press her body against the earth that still contained warmth from the sun, and for this she was grateful. She studied the moonlit compound and the dark outlines of the tents. After a fifteen-minute wait she saw two figures leave one of the small tents and head in her direction toward the privy. She lifted the binoculars to her eyes, and observing their walk and slim-ness she thought, Not men this time. They came nearer, unzipping their camouflage suits as they walked, and when they reached the privy below, and some twelve feet away from her, Mrs. Pollifax was able to look from one face to the other -one dark, almost swarthy, with thick eyebrows, and the other- "Yes.1" she whispered exultantly: the same face, deeply tanned and thinner now, same nose, same large eyes . .. Amanda Pym. She had found Amanda Pym-she was alive and she was here.

She remained very still, her eyes straining to see into which tent the two girls disappeared: second from the right, she decided, unless the moonlight deceived her. Only then did she slide cautiously down the hill to Farrell. "I saw her," she whispered. "I saw her."

"I didn't hear any voices," he protested.

"They didn't speak, but it was Amanda. Two girls, one of them Arab, one of them Amanda."

"So she's still alive," he said in amazement. "And here of all places. h.e.l.l, that does it, d.u.c.h.ess, let's get back to the Land Rover and to the flashlight. I borrowed Joe's compa.s.s -we'll want to take our bearings very carefully so we can report exactly where she can be found."

"Where she can be -" She stopped. He meant a report to the State Department, and she gave him a quick glance but said nothing, suddenly realizing that Farrell's wounds might be quickly healing on the outside, but that he was carrying them with him inside, buried deep. Farrell was afraid.

As I ought to be, too, she thought, wondering how on earth they'd ever get back to Damascus, but she was remembering Amanda Pym's face in the moonlight, thinner now, cheekbones sharpened into gauntness, looking younger in her camouflage suit than she'd appeared on film in that ill-fitting thrift-shop suit. It was apparent that for Farrell this was enough, but Farrell was refusing to remember what Carstairs had said: he had very clearly stated that he wanted Amanda Pym back if she could be found.

And now they had found her.

Wh en they returned to the camp there was still a light in the tent that Joe shared with Farrell. They found him seated on his cot, leaning over a small tray table covered with sheets of paper, a jar of paste and the jigsaw sc.r.a.ps from the fire collected into a bowl. He glanced up, glad to see them. "Any luck?" he asked, and his eyegla.s.ses glittered in the light from the kerosene lamp.

"We found her," Mrs. Pollifax told him eagerly. "She's there, I saw her."

"Wow," said Joe. "But that's great -wonderful-congratulations!"

"We found her," Farrell said, nodding, "so I think we can leave here in the morning."

Mrs. Pollifax said sharply, "Farrell -"

"Leave? You can't leave," Joe said angrily. "You can't leave now."

"Of course we can leave," Farrell told him stiffly. "We found her. I've taken the compa.s.s bearings of where the camp is, they can find it on their satellites -"

Mrs. Pollifax said coldly, "Yes and what, send paratroopers down for her? In Syrial" To Joe she said in a quiet aside, "Ha had a rough time when he was captured, he's thinking of those men who must be looking for him now."

"Of course they'll be looking for him," Joe said indignantly. "They don't want you to find Amanda Pym, and now you've outwitted them and found her, and you're just going to go?"

"Farrell," she said gently, "you're tired."

"I'm not tired," he snapped. "Obviously you think we should try to get her out of that camp but you must realize it's impossible. My G.o.d, it's a sniper camp; they don't just learn camouflage and how to hide -they have guns and know how to use them. We've found her, that ought to be enough. We owe her nothing."

If Farrell startled Mrs. Pollifax by turning into a stranger, Joe startled her even more by saying, "You owe her a life, d.a.m.n you. I know a lot about her, and you can't just leave her there, it's too cruel."

Abruptly Mrs. Pollifax sat down on the opposite cot. "You've pieced together sc.r.a.ps from her journal, haven't you. What is it you know about her? There were certain doubts in the department...."

"I didn't tell you before, I hadn't finished -still haven't," he said, "but to hear you say you found her and are going to leave her there is more than I can stomach."

"Why?" demanded Farrell.

"It's only guessing on my part but I think I know now why she was so reckless to disarm that hijacker at the risk of her life."

"Then tell us," said Mrs. Pollifax.

He looked at her doubtfully. "I'd rather show you .., show you both" he added with an angry glance at Farrell.

"Oh for heaven's sake," Farrell said crossly.

"You can look for yourselves at what I pieced together," ha told them. "There's still a pile but I went through them piece by piece until I found matches."

"To what?"

"Look for yourselves. I've lined them up chronologically, because after a lawyer was mentioned her mother wasn't, so I think her mother died recently. But decide for yourself."

Both she and a reluctant Farrell took their places at the table and looked at what he'd pieced together.

Mother furious about. . .

. . , more hand-me-down clothes from . . .

. . , explained why no money for college, I can't. . .

Mother said the meat cost. . .

Mother insisted 1 . . .

Mother said I couldn't. . .

. . , to poorhouse, she always brings up poorh . . .

. . , tired, so tired. Of scrimping, scrimping, scrimping and . . .

. . , she died at 3 A.M. , and . . .

. . , a safe-deposit box tomorrow, the lawyer so kind and . . .

They lied, lied, lied, LIED'.!!! A ll these years!

. . , what do I do with . . , it all?

. . , a fool, wearing new . . , clothes, where would I . . , wear them?

More stocks sold, another check today . . . $83,000, I wanted to tear . . .it up, it's so meaningless.

. . , was taught to be incons . . , picuous, 1 end up invisible.

Invisible, thought Mrs. Pollifax, jarred by the word. She seems to have moved through life not being noticed at all, Carstairs had said. And if Amanda Pym had been invisible in Roseville , Pennsylvania , what would have been her experience in Egypt , shabby and timid, traveling alone?

Farrell said dryly, "A lot of mothers there."

"Certainly a demanding one, perhaps an invalid," suggested Mrs. Pollifax.

"I'd say a tyrant," said Joe fiercely. "There are others that I can't match up yet, a lot about her longings to go to college but -"

"Couldn't afford it," put in Mrs. Pollifax, nodding.

"Yes. The last one I patched up are lines torn from an Emily d.i.c.kinson poem called 'I Was Hungry.' "